


I'm a Goddess on My Knees

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a rebellion of a different sort afoot in the Revolution universe as certain forces converge on Atlanta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a Goddess on My Knees

The sun dipped low beneath the buildings, reflecting silver and gold and copper, as if the city could still light up the coming night as it once had. She had chosen the office specifically because of the view. She could oversee her citizens easily, tiny ants going about their business, and from so high up she could not hear the worrying whispers gossiping about the fast approaching enemy. Her complex was a fortress, but the thought comforted her little if the rest of the city and country burned. For the second time, she noted. And there was no need to relive the ravished landscape and lives post-Blackout.

The door opened behind her with a sharp click, brushing loudly against the heavy rug as it swung open.

Kelly Foster did not turn around. Only one person would enter her office unannounced.

“Where are they?’

“Tom sent word from Indiana. It’s slow going though. Every step forward ends up in two steps back. I’d believe it if someone told me Monroe was just conjuring those magical pendants out of thin air.”

Foster sighed. It was too hot for this shit and her stupid suit jacket. If Monroe wanted trivial games, then he was getting them. Foster was in the practice of setting her sights further.

“He’ll see soon enough that we have a magician of our own.”

She turned to face Julia Neville.

“That is, assuming our magician is coming?”

Julia smiled, genuine, hopeful and anticipatory.

“She’s on her way as we speak.”

“And the other?”

“She’s in a bit of predicament, but she’ll pull through.”

“Grace is no Rachel Matheson, Julia.”

“No. But she knows her priorities.” The blonde woman’s hand found Foster’s clothed arm and rubbed it assuredly; Foster let herself sink into it for the moment. “Trust them. Hell, trust _me_.”

She widened her reassuring smile.

“They’ll get here.”

\--

Nora was done.

Her eyes still watered from the smoke and her clothes might have been pasted to her, courtesy of the sweat and grime of battle. She had singed her fingers accidentally and as calloused as they were, as she was, they still throbbed in pain and she was ready for a break. She was also pretty sure she had it in her to kill for a glass of iced tea at this point, but she swallowed urge; they still had a debrief to get through.

Charlie interrupted her train of thought as she stumbled towards Miles’ tent, where they were meeting.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

Charlie fell into pace with Nora, their footsteps crunching together against the gravel.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure?” Nora’s brain felt like it was pedaling through molasses, but if anyone had enough unlimited energy to beat away the lethargy, it was Charlie.

“What was the U.S. like?”

Nora had to think, push through the cloud to remember childhood memories and tales around a campfire.

“Well, sometimes it was a shit show. But if anything there were always people who tried hard not to make it one. And it did a lot better than a lot of other places.”

“But, like, what _was_ it?”

“A democracy, I guess?”

“The Rebels like that word. I remember Aaron teaching us some of that—democracy, monarchy, oligarchy, patriarchy. He always liked talking about science more though.”

Nora let out a small laugh and it helped with the clarity.

“Not patriarchy, Charlie. That’s something else.”

“What is it then?”

“Patriarchy is Miles making all the damn decisions around here.” She tried to suppress her grumble but couldn’t help it.

“I’m sorry, Charlie—” she immediately retracted, “I know he’s your uncle and you look up to him. I’m just really tire—”

“It’s alright.”

“I just—can I tell you something that you won’t repeat?”

Charlie stopped walking, pivoting to face Nora.

“Scout’s honor.”

“Scout’s—where did you learn that?”

“It’s something Miles says.”

“We need to get you another role model.” Charlie could hear the eye roll in her voice and let a smile tease at her lips; it was nice to know that someone else shared her desire of occasionally wanting to throw something heavy at Miles’ head.

“Go on, Nora.”

“Sometimes I worry that we’re outing one Monroe to just replace him with another.”

Charlie didn’t know what to say and as she watched the woman across from her, Nora realized that that had been an unfair thing to throw at the girl. She hadn’t been there when it’s gotten really bad, probably couldn’t ever fathom the fact that there had been a time Miles was to the Matheson family and the rest of the country what Monroe was to Charlie now. 

They were fighting for a better world, but Nora was still sorting out exactly what that meant. All she knew was that she wouldn’t make it one that threw Charlie down the drain alongside Miles. She wouldn’t see Charlie destroyed for whatever twisted thing he was trying to set right.

Nora swore on that fact as she flipped open the tent flap and joined the gathering inside.

\--

Rachel was almost one hundred percent certain that the lanterns had been Julia’s idea. That woman read far too many books—colossal paperweights on ancient civilizations, every single Stephen E. Ambrose ever written, the worn, musty Shakespeare collection loaned generously to Rachel during her captivity (because _Titus Andronicus_ had been just what she needed when Bass ordered Strausser to rip out her molars).

Julia was smart, and their alliance basically fated to happen once Bass had consented to weekly meetings for Rachel’s sanity. But lord did she have a romantic streak in her a mile wide.

The last message had actually been a message, pressed into her hand by a stranger colliding with her and Aaron was almost too easy to deceive. But apparently in order for theirs to truly be a secret plan, they needed covert communications, however ridiculous it sounded.

She rounded the bend and started searching for the house; brick and yellow and old was the description that she had been given. It was the two lights piercing through the hazy night, green and clearly liberated from a derelict stop light, that caught her attention.

Green means go and two if by sea. Well, river.

The boat would be waiting.

Losing Aaron was the next question.

The letter (and by letter Rachel was fairly certain Julia) insisted that she not just ditch him, that she give him real reason to leave her and keep going, to keep up the ruse. Could he make it to the Tower by himself? If he could, and somehow succeeded, it would only mean a big surprise and more level playing field.

If he didn’t, well, Rachel already couldn’t sleep at night.

Still, part of Rachel wanted him to die thinking that he was bravely blazing on alone to do the right thing, imagining that his death was the only option. If Julia was allowed indulgences, then so was she.

They continued trekking past the house, and with darkness falling, she could make a better excuse. She saw her opportunity when something, probably just a raccoon, rustled in the bushes behind them.

“Aaron, come on, run!”

He never knew when she would panic or take a leap from reality or if her paranoia was legitimate, and Rachel took advantage of that.

She broke out in a run, steering towards the side of the road. God, was she ready to do this? She’d been through worse, she told herself.

Suddenly Rachel was propelling her body over the edge, angling her leg correctly, and letting herself roll down the hill into the ditch.

_Crack._

The flash of pain whited out the world halfway down and all she could think was that Julia better make this worth it when she reached Atlanta.

\--

Randall had plans for Grace, but never stopped to think that Grace might have plans for _him_.

She gripped the fire extinguished, nervous, but ready. She nodded to the figure behind her. The elevator churned, the silent numbers counting down. Doors rattled as its payload arrived, opening with rusty groans.

He was clearly surprised at her standing alone in the middle of the vast space, looking small and wide-eyed.

“Grace?”

 “Hello, Randall.”

She wasn’t a threat, never had been, and he took several steps towards her.

“Why do you have a—?”

The blow took him in the face and Grace was surprised that the weight did most of the work itself. Blood sprayed down his shirt and she was fairly sure that his nose was broken. Thinking of it as pay back for the electric shock made her feel slightly better, but mostly she was glad it was over with.

Her companion tossed some zip ties over.

“Secure him,” she said.

Grace nodded.

“Do you have the wheel barrow?” she asked back.

“Right here.”

The other woman smiled, sending suspicious tingles down Grace’s spine, and then glanced towards the work table.

“Grab the tech and let’s get this show on the road.”

Grace just nodded, crossing her fingers that her new found friend wasn't lying when she said that she could fly a helicopter.

\--

Dr. Warren cursed with enough passion to make one of her former graduate students blush. The chain on the bike simply continued jerking and sputtered around and she came to an annoyed stop on the side of the road. She knelt down to fix it, cleching her jaw as she dug into the gritty oil and slippery links of the chain.

Journeying there was idiotic in itself, much less what she was trying to accomplish, but she had never been able to refuse her wife anything.

“Besides,” Beth had suggested to her at dinner a while ago, “Think of it as your greatest masterpiece yet.”

Jane had kept her face taut, but Beth always knew how to get at her, to nudge the prideful scientist that lurked beneath the curt cynic. She’d held their hands softly together and made more than a teary, heartfelt argument.

As she sat in the grass on the side of the road, one eye always on her backpack and its contents, she cursed Beth’s powers of persuasion. Rachel’s visited had shaken then both up, as had Jane trying to murder her old colleague in the middle of the night. The woman who had been there for less than a week managed to trudge up long ignored dreams and frustrations. Although Rachel was much quieter than Jane had remembered, Aaron did enough talking once he got over his initial puppy-like fear of his host.

The two had left and strange thoughts trickled through their once peaceful home.

And now Jane was out in the world again, something she had hoped to avoid. Still, her heart skipped eagerly when her glance passed over her bag. Their plan was not a boring one.

As Beth had whispered it across the familiar glow of the candles, Jane’s fingers began to tingle, itching to build, create.

“Imagine not only fending off death,” her love had said in her ear, low and fantastical, “but reversing it.”

Dr. Warren couldn’t wait to get started.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is starting around 1x15, and diverging around there, mostly because that was when in the season I started planning this. Really, I wanted a fic like this to exist because of reasons.


End file.
